Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(96)

“Try it on,” he said.

Emma watched as he slid the enormous sapphire onto her finger. The ring fit perfectly, a ball of blue fire balanced on the surface of her hand. “Why did you buy this for me?” she asked in awe.

“Because it matches your eyes.”

“It's so incredible, but…” She stroked his chest, tracing the hard curve of muscle. “Why did you buy this for me?”

“It gives me pleasure to see you wearing beautiful things…almost as much pleasure as seeing you with nothing on at all.” He whispered endearments to her, lightly fondling and stroking her body, unfastening the neck of her dress. His lips caressed her exposed throat, his tongue tickling the hollow where her pulse fluttered.

Emma sighed and closed her eyes. “Nikki, don't—”

“Let's go upstairs.”

“Not before supper,” she exclaimed, blushing.

“I want to see you naked—except for the ring.”

“You're impossible,” she said, letting him tug her from the room.

A week before Christmas, Emma was busy decorating the mansion with bells, acres of red ribbon, holly, and mistletoe. The Sidarova sisters and two footmen climbed ladders to hang ornaments on a towering pine tree situated in the central hall. As they worked, they entertained Emma by singing Russian Christmas carols.

“If only this place weren't so large,” Emma lamented, tying clumps of holly to the banister. “It takes three times as many decorations to make any sort of impression.”

“Yes, but it looks so wonderful,” Rashel exclaimed, carefully affixing a gingerbread man to one of the pine branches. They had baked gingerbread in a variety of shapes, and were already having problems with encroachers daring to nibble at the spicy treats. Samson was a constant threat, venturing forth to gobble the gingerbread hanging from the lowest branches of the Christmas tree. He reclined beneath the fragrant boughs, occasionally scratching at the festive red bow tied around his neck.

The butler approached Emma with a perplexed expression on his hawklike face. “Your Highness,” he murmured, “I just discovered this package on the doorstep.”

Abandoning her work on the banister, Emma came down the steps and took the object from him. It was a small white box with a red bow, bearing a card that read, simply, Emma.

A smile flitted across her face. “I wonder who would deliver a gift in such a way.”

She untied the ribbon and opened the cold, slightly damp pasteboard box. It contained a scrap of velvet, a fresh bloodred rose, and a small card with the initial A on it. Her smile vanished, and her forehead creased. Who would send her a gift like this, and in such a mysterious fashion? Could it possibly be from Adam Milbank? Once, long ago, he had given her a red rose just like this one. She touched the rose, and jerked her hand back as a thorn pierced the tip of her forefinger. “Ouch!” She sucked on the sore spot, tasting the salty tang of blood.

Stanislaus's black brows drew together. “Your Highness, if you will permit me…” He took the box from her and unrolled the velvet scrap, dropping its contents into Emma's palm.

She gasped as a pair of pearl earrings, strung in loops, fell in a cool, heavy tumble into her hand. The Sidarova girls came to view them, exclaiming in admiration. “Very beautiful,” Rashel said.

Emma was aware of a cold, uneasy feeling. She had once read that pearls meant tears. A box with a red rose and pearls…blood and tears. She dropped the earrings back into the box. “It's a good thing Nikolas isn't here,” she murmured. “I don't think he'd appreciate my receiving gifts from other men.”

“No, Your Highness,” Stanislaus agreed.

Emma glanced at the gift distastefully. “Please return that to Lord Milbank. I suspect he is the one responsible for sending it to me.” She paused and looked at the servants around her. “There's no need to mention this to Prince Nikolas. He would be jealous or angry, and I would prefer our first Christmas to be free of trouble.”

They all agreed immediately and went back to work, trying to recapture the light mood of a few moments before. Emma was disturbed by the unexpected gift, but she resolved to put it out of her mind. What could Adam have meant by his gesture? To let her know that he still cared? That he wanted something from her, perhaps even an affair? How silly some men were, only desiring what they couldn't have. Or perhaps the gift was intended to express a heartfelt good-bye. It didn't matter—she intended to concentrate on the future, not on the past. She had a good life with Nikolas, and it only promised to get better. Nothing would spoil their chances. She would make certain of that.

Twelve

I N THE MORNING Stanislaus came to Emma while she was taking tea in her private sitting room.

“Your Highness,” the butler said, and paused, as if wondering how to continue. His black brows were drawn together, and his mouth was tight.

“What is it, Stanley? You have the strangest expression on your face.”

He ignored her nickname for him. “Your Highness,” he answered, “I have discovered this on the front doorstep.” He held out the object in his hand.

Emma set her teacup aside and stared at it in astonishment. It was the same bloodred rose that had been delivered to her yesterday. “Didn't you send it back?”

“Yes, Your Highness, along with the pearls. Apparently the flower was left by itself this time.”